


Take the World

by Tony



Series: How To Train Your Secretary [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Barebacking, Butt Plugs, Dom/sub, M/M, Porn With Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:26:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tony/pseuds/Tony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Tavin, who wanted Arthur with a toy inside of him while on the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lozhka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lozhka/gifts).



> Heavily inspired by Secretary
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings for this installment: whipping with a belt, references to harsh punishments, dirty talk, barebacking, slightly unhealthy D/s practices.

If Arthur sat just right, he couldn’t even feel it. It had been in him since 8:45AM and now, at 1:12PM, it had turned into a dull ache that he could easily ignore if he just kept his mind on his work, on answering calls and checking schedules, making appointments and rearranging files. As long as Arthur didn’t think about it, as long as he sipped his coffee and played with his tie, he could ignore it.

“You’ve got a bug up your ass about something today Arthur, what is it?”

Arthur’s eyes snapped up from his desk to see Yusuf crossing his arms and giving him a strange look. His answer was an aborted laugh, stiff shoulders, and a lick of his lips. “I’m just anxious. If Mr. Eames doesn’t get this account, he’s going to be pissed. He’ll have all our heads. We’ll know by Wednesday if Browning is on board or not. Hopefully.”

Yusuf frowned and nodded, glancing over at the oak door with the golden handle. “Mm. Well. Cobb is working on it. Try not to blow a head gasket, my friend. Eames will “have all our heads” if you end up in the hospital from stressing out too much. Take it easy, a’right mate?”

Glad that the other man was finally going away, Arthur looked at the time on his laptop, his weight shifting as he wriggled in his seat. A shiver ran up his spine and his jaw clenched tightly shut as a he white-knuckled his desk. He needed something to eat, but couldn’t have anything beyond the bagel he’d scarfed for breakfast. It wasn’t his place to pick when to eat, wasn’t his place to decide how often he ate. He’d have to silently suffer until 2PM when Mr. Eames would walk out that door, smile vaguely in Arthur’s direction, and stride through the office like the cock of the walk, Arthur hot on his heels as they went for their daily lunch break.

Some people might think it torturous to have your entire life dictated to you. Others might think it laughable, unhealthy, **_wrong_**.

Arthur enjoyed it. Arthur required it. He needed to be told when to go to bed at night, when to wake up in the morning, when to shower, when to eat and use the bathroom.

His entire life, Arthur had fought to be in control, only to find out that what he really needed was to find the right person to control _him_. Mr. Eames was that person. And for him, Arthur would do literally anything.

It was 1:35. The small black plastic intercom switched on and a playful purr floated through, “Arthur, cancel everything after 4PM. I’m leaving early today.”

To everyone who might overhear, Eames was the flirtatious playboy with little patience and a need to be assertive. To Arthur, Eames was so much more. The sprightly lilt to his boss’s tone was for show. Arthur knew how Eames was behind closed doors, in the privacy of his own home, and the façade Eames put on for the public only scratched the surface.

Leaving early today. Arthur wondered what that meant. The months he’d spent with Eames had taught him to tell Eames’ truth from his mask, but he was still painfully oblivious to what went on in Eames’ head, what Eames’ plans were, and it bothered him deep in his bones, not only as Eames’ Pet, but as his Secretary as well.

“Yes, Mr. Eames,” he answered, straightening his back as though his boss could see through the heavy oak door and know that his posture was slipping on account of the object lodged deep inside of him. Eames wouldn’t care how uncomfortable it was, he would only scold Arthur for not sitting up straight, elbows off the desk, feet flat on the floor. And then he would Punish Arthur.

And so, even while Eames wasn’t looking, Arthur kept up his duties. Because Eames had trained him well, and Arthur prided himself in being the perfect Toy.

+

They ate lunch at SoHo, with Arthur sliding into the seat opposite Eames and keeping his gaze down, averted, as he was supposed to while in public. Arthur was Eames’ property and strangers did not have the right to look his Pet in the eye. Just the same, Arthur was not allowed to look at anyone else, just in case his eyes wandered too far and Eames became Displeased (Jealous).

Eames did not tell Arthur why he was going home early today, and asking was against The Rules. Arthur was never to ask questions he did not _need_ to know the answer to.    

Eames ordered both Arthur’s drink and Arthur’s food, and then proceeded to tell Arthur how much he was allowed to drink, how many fries and how much of the bacon burger Arthur was allowed to eat. He never let Arthur starve, and never let Arthur eat too much.

When their arrangement first began, Arthur had trouble adjusting to this part, the part where he would eat and drink and never feel 100% full, 100% quenched. He was always just a little thirsty, just a little hungry, and now, months down the line, he’d trained himself to deal with it, because it’s what Eames wanted, and Arthur was not being harmed, so what did it matter? Pleasing Eames was at the top of Arthur’s To-Do List, every single day. If leaving the majority of his lunch unfinished was what it took to satisfy his Dom, Arthur would do it gladly.

As they left, a cold wind began to blow and Eames put his hand at the small of Arthur’s back, pulling him closer. This was a great amount of affection compared to what Eames would normally show in public, and Arthur’s heart skipped a beat in his chest as he pulled the collar of his pea coat higher and let himself be tucked against his boss’s side.

A mouth pressed to Arthur’s ear, whispered, “It’s still in you, isn’t it. I can tell. You’re such a Good Boy for me, Arthur. I’ve been so fucking hard all day thinking about you with it in, thinking about everyone looking at you and not knowing what we know, that you’re probably begging for a _real_ cock in you, would grab your ankles with a snap of my fingers at this point.”

He hadn’t expected that. Arthur’s face turned scarlet and he was reminded once again that yes, he was full to the brim with a plug, slicked and uncomfortable, making his steps just the slightest bit awkwardly placed if you looked hard enough. Arthur couldn’t answer-- wasn’t allowed to answer, as he hadn’t had a proper question addressed to him, or an order.

“You and I are going home early today and I am going to make you scream. Is that clear, darling?”

“Yes, Mr. Eames. _Yes_.”

+

The last couple of hours at the office were absolute hell on Arthur’s nerves.

Eames had forbid his Secretary from sitting down, keeping him constantly busy at the file cabinets and running errands. Ariadne took over for Arthur while he was busy doing this, and he seethed with annoyance at how he was being forced to stand and walk while she sat and did _his_ job. The metal ring between his thighs holding the plug in place was making him anxious and paranoid.

Finally, the door to Eames’ office swung open and Arthur inwardly sighed with relief. He needed to sit down, needed this toy out of him, needed to be bent over and spanked ‘til he was blood red. Striding quickly over to his desk, Arthur reached around Ariadne to grab his laptop and shove it into his briefcase. He threw on his jacket and caught up with Eames, who was just sliding into the elevator.

They didn’t speak (never spoke casually together in public), not even when they reached the car. Arthur was not allowed to drive, that was Eames’ job. Arthur was to sit still in the passenger seat, and he did, his blood boiling under his skin, his skin itching under his clothes, his clothes ready to be ripped off his body as soon as they entered their condo.

Of course, they weren’t ripped off, hadn’t been in months. Arthur had been trained too well to act so hastily, and Eames would never be so clumsy. Eames knew he’d get what he wanted, there was no need to act like he needed to hurry for something that would come in due time.  

“I’m taking a shower. Go into the living room and Kneel.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Kneeling was the most strenuous part of their arrangement.

Arthur would strip out of his clothes and fold them neatly, place them on the coffee table in a pile. Once he was naked, he would sit on the hardwood floor, legs under him, shoulders straight. His kneecaps would ache as he waited for Eames silently, eyes down, fists on his thighs, for as long as needed. He would not complain, had learned _that_ lesson and now knew better.

It was almost an hour today before Eames came out of the bedroom, hair washed and dried, leisure clothes on consisting of tailored black slacks and a deep red dress shirt, top two buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. This was as casual as Mr. Eames got.

The quiet clip-clop of leather shoes across the floor and Arthur’s spine twitched straighter, his muscles screaming at him, bones popping, stomach cramping with the need to get the plug out of him.

Eames stood in front of Arthur, didn’t say anything. A big paw-like hand went to Arthur’s head, fingers tangled through stiff brown hair, and a thumb grazed the apple of Arthur’s cheek before the secretary was pulled roughly forward and his mouth was brought to the crotch of Eames’ pants. There was a lump, the barest hint of an erection, and Arthur’s breath caught in his throat, his eyelashes fluttered. His own penis was filling out nicely between his thighs, hardening at the thought of sucking Eames off, having that thick, uncut prick in his mouth after an unbearably long day of waiting.

Arthur’s face heated marginally as Eames thrust against him, teasing them both, locked his fingers tightly in Arthur’s slicked back hair. “Such a good boy,” Eames purred, “My Arthur.” Free hand moving to unzip his trousers, Eames held Arthur’s head back as he pulled his cock out, a deadly smirk on his mouth. “Remind me once again how good you are with that mouth of yours.”

Oh, this was what Arthur had been waiting for-- he needed this, he wanted this, craved Eames’ dick in his mouth at all times, and although having it in his ass would be one-hundred times better, right now he’d take what he could get. His mouth fell on Eames’ cock and he took it all in on the first slide, relaxed his throat like he’d been taught so well, pressed his nose to the honey-wheat pubic hair trailing up to Eames’ navel.

Arthur had been so-so at blowjobs before Eames came along. He’d given them before, given **_a lot_** of them before actually, but he’d really just done them to get by and not out of any sort of pleasure for himself, not even a need to really give pleasure to the _blowee_. It was a means of payment, of protection, of not getting his face bashed in by abusers. He’d suck, make sure not to use his teeth, and pray that the other person would hurry up and cum so he could be done with it.

Eames hadn’t allowed that. As soon as Arthur began to blow Eames, he had gently stopped the younger man, pushed him off, and dropped to his own knees to show Arthur exactly how it should be done.

That was the only time Arthur had needed to be shown. He’d learned well how to put all his passion into a blowjob, to take pleasure from the act of _giving_ one just as well as give pleasure to the receiver. One of his hands went to Eames' thigh to steady himself, the other went to Eames’ balls, kneading them tenderly as he sucked and licked.

Even with all the patience Eames wielded, he eventually took the reins from Arthur and latched on with both hands, fucking Arthur’s face roughly.

The secretary’s eyes watered, both hands on Eames’ hips now to keep him steady. Arthur gagged and whimpered, breath shallow as big, strong hands held his head in place and a thick cock stuffed his mouth and throat. Ringing in his ears deafened him as he dug his nails in, Arthur patiently waiting for Eames to finish using him.

Finally he was released, saliva dribbling down his neck and chest. He was so fucking hard at this point it hurt, his insides clenching around the plug in him, dick leaking onto the hardwood between his legs.

As if reading Arthur’s mind, Eames asked in words dripping with lust, “Tell me what you want. You want fucked, don’t you? Tell me, Arthur.”

“Yes,” Arthur choked, chest heaving, “Fuck me, Sir. I’ve waited all day like a Good Boy, I need it Daddy!”

Eames grinned and began to remove his belt. The sound of the leather being ripped through belt loops had Arthur swallowing thickly, anticipating the beating about to come. He hadn’t asked for it, Eames hadn’t warned him about it, but Arthur knew from the gleam in his Master’s eye that he was about to be whipped, and he couldn’t resist the hard shudder and pathetic whimper he emitted. It had been days since he’d received Punishment from The Belt, his welts melted back into smooth, barely bruised skin, and _oh_ how he relished the thought of those lashes against his thighs and ass.

“This is for me, Pet. I’ve had a hard day, I hope you understand,” purred Eames, doubling the belt around his fist and stepping out of the way of the table.

Arthur didn’t need to be told to get into position, he knew it was his duty without having to be prompted. He slid over the table, chest on glass, wrists crossed in front of him, and ass out in the air, an offering to his God of Pleasure.

The first strike hit Arthur’s thighs, making his shoulders hitch and his eyes roll back in his head. It wasn’t hard, left a bee-sting behind, a sweet promise of welts to come. A second strike, a third, a fourth, and the fifth hit the ring of the plug, making him gasp. Eames made sure to aim his lashes specifically at Arthur’s entrance, leather glancing off metal and ringing out with every gasp and whimper from the Sub’s mouth.

Every clench of his ass, every jar of the plug in Arthur made his dick twitch, made him thankful he’d trained for weeks with a cockring to keep himself from orgasm until given permission. With his head buried in his arms, shoulders trembling, toes curling, Arthur moaned with abandon as the strikes came faster, the sting became sharper and sharper with every lash.

Behind him, Eames was breathing heavily as well, prick still proudly standing at attention as he finally tossed the belt aside and bent to appreciate his handiwork. “Oh Arthur, look at you,” he whispered in reverence, fingers ghosting over red, swollen cheeks. Later, he’d take salve to the welts, cool them down and kiss them, worship Arthur’s rump like it deserved to be—but right now, they both wanted to cum, the air of Need palpable in the room like a cloud of smoke. He placed his palm on the small of Arthur’s bent back, rubbed it in small circles to calm the Sub’s whimpering, and then slid it down, middle and third finger teasing the crevice and finally looping through the metal circle, tugging at it. “You’ve waited so long, so good for me. My Perfect Boy.”

Arthur was up on his elbows now, an inhuman groan ripped from him as the plug was finally, **_finally_** pulled from its nest, tucked away inside his ass for a good ten hours. He was open, could feel it, still slick and hot and red.

There was a time when he would be incredibly embarrassed about this, being spread wide open and on display, Eames’ thumbs stretching him wider still to get a good look at his insides. That time had passed, months ago. All of Arthur belonged to Eames, and when Eames wanted to look at his property, Arthur did not complain. A wet muscle invaded him briefly, Eames’ tongue eeling into him and back out just as quick as it had come.

Eames reached over to the nearby ottoman, lifted the leather top to reveal storage space filled with assorted condoms and lubricants. He pulled a pack of lubricant from the small space and ripped it open, slicking himself up liberally and wiping the excess between Arthur’s cheeks. Next, he pushed his slacks further down his thighs, removed his dress shirt, and covered Arthur’s back with his broad barrel chest, erection resting snugly in the cleft of Arthur’s ass.

“Flat on your chest, palms on the glass, don’t move,” growled Eames, calloused, lube-sticky fingers sinking into Arthur’s hair, holding his face down against the glass of the coffee table while his other hand went to Arthur’s hips, dug in hard and bruising.

What followed was a brain-jarring fuck, Eames plugging him up just as well as the toy had, better, _so_ _much_ _better_ , the ringing in Arthur’s ears back and filling his head like bees buzzing behind his eyes. Knuckles white and teeth bared, Arthur sobbed and sniffled and mewled as the hardwood floor dug hard into his kneecaps. Eames rutted into him hungrily, hips snapping in rigid thrusts that had the table scooting forward with each one.

They’d both been close from the starting gate. This grating pace was just a smidgen too much for Arthur to get any physical pleasure out of, his body currently a toy for Eames’ enjoyment. Rarely did Eames ever make noise during their sessions, always cool and collected, the height of his passion marked only by heaving breathes and the tells his body could not quite hide: sweaty palms, flushed face, uneven thrusts, teeth digging into big, beautiful, pink lips.

A hand went to Arthur’s prick and he sucked in a sharp breath, keening as he was jerked off and fucked. He hadn’t expected that- to have Eames’ hand on him, and it was too much at once, too much pleasure from both inside and outside, and his hands lifted from the table briefly before he realized his mistake and slapped them back down, forehead banging against the table as he sobbed.

Arthur’s orgasm hit him like a car into the side of a wall at full speed. His entire body tensed almost painfully, his ass burning from the inside as he was rammed into, brain exploding with dizzying stars. His cum dribbled down Eames’ fist in hot rivulets as he cried, shaking in his Dominant’s arms like a leaf.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Eames cooed, biting playfully at Arthur’s shoulder.

Breath settling, Arthur eventually began to come down from his full-body orgasm, flushed and sweaty and light-headed. At some point, Eames had cum as well, was pulling out and Arthur could feel semen dribbling out of him, running between his thighs in a molten mess.

“Oh you were so good darling, my Good Boy, so fucking perfect.”

Arthur nodded, his eyes closed, relaxing back against Eames. There was a hand stroking his face, in his hair, brushing damp strands from his eyes, and he was falling into a comfortably numb state, boneless in Eames’ arms as he was lifted and taken to the bathroom.

This was what made it all worth it. This was what made the slapping and the biting worth it, the whipping and the lashes and the backhands when he needed Punished. This was what made their relationship enjoyable—The Aftercare. This was what made Arthur know that what he shared with Eames was what he Needed.

As he was lowered into the hot water of the tub, as the cum and sweat was sponged from his body, as Eames pressed his  mouth to Arthur’s and sighed with pleasure, Arthur heard those three little words that would make doing this all again tomorrow worth it.

“You’re mine, Arthur.”

And he was.


End file.
